


Pretty Girl

by butterflyslinky



Category: Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Crossdressing, F/M, Femdom, Pegging, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 14:45:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12367995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflyslinky/pseuds/butterflyslinky
Summary: He's her pretty girl, and that's just perfect.





	Pretty Girl

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by artwork that a friend of mine did. Basically, we both love putting Clark in very slutty femmy clothes, and once this started, I couldn't stop.

It was totally not his fault.

He hadn’t picked out these clothes. He just had them because his friends thought they were funny. Thought that the Man of Steel would never, ever wear something feminine, that sweet wholesome Clark Kent would never, ever wear anything this indecent.

What they didn’t understand was that just because he didn’t dress like this in public didn’t mean that he wouldn’t do so behind closed doors, away from prying eyes.

Lois was the only person he ever let see this side of him. She enjoyed this, loved letting this side of him peek out.

Which was why she had whispered for him to go get dressed up for her after dinner. And when Lois gave an order like that, Clark always, automatically obeyed her.

There was a routine to it by now. He went to their room, closed the door, undressed. Showered, washing every inch, using the expensive soap they saved for these occasions. Sat down, still naked, to put on the makeup, exactly like she’d shown him, exactly how she liked it. It had taken a few tries to get his eyeliner perfect, but now he was an expert.

Face pretty, he turned to put on the clothes she liked (and that he liked, if he was honest). Small skirt, barely large enough to cover him, that fastened low on his hips. Stockings, tricky, delicate things that came halfway up his thigh—he’d never asked where those had been sourced, knowing the temptation to buy more would be too high. A sweater, soft and pink and just a bit too tight, and he was ready for her. He knelt in the middle of the floor, hands folded in his lap, eyes downcast. Submissive. Willing.

She came in a few minutes later. He looked up at her through his lashes.

“Hello, pretty girl,” she breathed. “You being good?”

He nodded, lowering his eyes again, not moving an inch.

She circled him, inspecting him. She ran her hand across his shoulders as she went. “I don’t think this sweater’s working for me,” she said. “It’s cute, but it’s a bit too warm for it tonight.”

Clark nodded.

“Take it off.”

He did, carefully so he wouldn’t smear his makeup. He kept his eyes down as he folded the sweater neatly and held it out to her.

She took it and put it away. Clark had to press on hand over his lap to prevent his skirt from going up too much with how much this was turning him on.

Lois turned back and smiled as she looked at him, half-dressed. “Such a sweet thing,” she purred. “Such a pretty girl…my pretty girl.”

Clark raised one hand to his face to hide his blush, though he was smiling.

“None of that,” Lois said, batting his hand down. “I don’t want you to hide, pretty girl. You should be proud.”

He dared glance up at her, blue eyes wide.

“I mean it,” she continued. “You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.” She ran a hand over his cheek lightly before putting her hand to his mouth. He took her manicured fingers in his mouth, sucking and licking them lightly. She left them there a moment before pulling them away.

Clark whined a bit, giving her his most pitiful look.

“Awww,” she cooed. “You want something to suck on?”

He nodded, maybe a bit too eager.

She patted his cheek. “Wait right here,” she ordered.

He did so, head bowed, hands folded again. She walked behind him for a few minutes before she returned, harness and strap-on replacing her pants but otherwise still dressed.

She smirked as his eyes widened. He looked so innocent and yet so sinful sitting there, knees slightly apart but hands pressing down his skirt in a show of false modesty. She stepped towards him, the weight on her hips familiar and nice for her. “Go on,” she said. “Suck me, pretty girl.”

He did, taking the toy deep in his throat because he could, because it didn’t matter how hard or big or rough she was, she couldn’t hurt him. Sometimes, he was a bit wistful about that. He wondered what it would be like to have her choke him, bruise him, make him feel what a human would in this situation. He wondered if she would like that, if he would like it. Part of him was frightened by the idea, but the other, louder part wanted to find out. Maybe he could convince Bruce to lend them a red sun generator for a night, just so he could know…

A slap to the face and he looked up, eyes wide.

“You’re not paying attention,” Lois scolded, stepping away, pulling the cock out of his mouth. Clark whined, eyes pleading, trying to convey without words that he was sorry, that he’d do better, just please give it back…

“Uh-uh,” she said. “You know better. Up on the bed. Facedown.”

He obeyed, getting up on the bed, on his knees, face in the pillow. He felt the blush creep down his neck and chest as his skirt flew up, leaving his ass entirely exposed. Clark did his best to breathe evenly, to not let her know just how much this was affecting him.

He turned his head to see what she was doing. She noticed and smirked a him, picking up a wooden paddle from her box. “What do you think?” she asked. “Appropriate for a naughty girl who can’t pay attention to her tasks?”

Clark nodded and she stepped behind him. He couldn’t see her, but he knew how this would go. A few swats, not too hard—she’d sooner break her paddle than she’d break him. It had happened before, when they were still figuring this out. But now, she knew just how hard to hit—hard enough for him to feel something, but not so much that she broke anything.

The first swing was more of a test. He breathed, forcing himself to relax—if he was too tense, it would be harder for her to control what she was doing.

The second hit was harder, a light sting. He almost wished she had tied his hands with how much trouble he had keeping still. He wanted to touch himself, or her, he didn’t care, just wanted to feel skin under his hands instead of the bedsheets.

Three swats in quick succession and he was whimpering, not from pain but from helplessness none the less. This was why they did this—so that he could give up, so that she could own him, so that he could become a simpering mess without fear. It had taken so much time and negotiation before he had even been willing to admit it, but she had taken the broken parts of him and fixed them, like she always did, rebuilt him into someone he could enjoy being for just a few hours each week.

A harder hit and he snapped back. Right. Pay attention. That’s what this was for. His mind should be on her, pleasing her, being her good girl. He focused on her warmth behind him, on her heartbeat, fast and loud with arousal, on the smell of her perfume. He surrounded himself with her, focusing his enhanced senses on her and nothing but her, until he was wrapped in her presence.

Two more hits, one after the other. There was a sting, a blush, and Clark wondered if she’d finally managed it, if she’d found a way to break past the steel to give him some semblance of pain. But no, the sting faded as quickly as it had come. Clark doubted he’d bruise, doubted his ass had even gone red. She would have to be there for hours to even come close. It really was a pity.

The last two swats came and then she was on him, pressing two slick fingers inside him, sharp nails barely scratching inside and he wanted to scream, but knew better. She leaned over him as she twisted her fingers inside, opening him, stretching him, her breasts pressed to his back, roughened by the cloth of her shirt, her hair tickling his shoulder, her other hand pushing his skirt up further. He moaned, unable to stop himself as he pushed himself up to his elbows to give her a better angle. She nipped at his shoulder, not really a bite so she wouldn’t break her teeth but enough to let him know she was still there.

He pressed back slightly and she pulled her fingers out. It didn’t matter—she wouldn’t, couldn’t hurt him, and she knew he wished she could, she knew he wanted more, but this was all she could give, and he would take it. She pressed her toy inside quickly, all the way, as rough and hard as she could and it was almost enough. Clark whimpered.

“Hush, pretty girl,” she murmured. “I’m gonna take real good care of you…gonna fuck you til you’re screaming, then let you use that pretty mouth all night long…how’s that sound, sweetie?”

He nodded eagerly, wiggling his hips into her. She laughed and slapped his flank gently.

“Good girl,” she said, and started to thrust, hard. Clark leaned down a bit, pressed back, ground down, anything to make it better. She no longer objected, simply changed angles as she saw fit, fingering the bottom of his skirt as she kept a brutal pace.

“I should get one of these,” she said. “Wear it to the office now and then…you’d look through the cubical walls and see it and know that we have matching outfits…outfits we can never wear in public. Something just for us.”

She leaned forward to whisper, even though she knew he’d be able to hear her anyway. “Or maybe we should wear them in public…would you like that, pretty girl? Like to go out, like to show off how pretty you are? Like other people to see it? I’m sure Bruce would love it…you’d like him to get under your skirt, wouldn’t you? You’d love it if he fucked you like I do…but he can’t.” A particularly brutal thrust, one that almost hurt. “He wouldn’t know how to fuck you like I do…wouldn’t know how to take care of my pretty girl.”

He shook his head quickly. They’d played this game before. Whether or not they invited Bruce into their bed one day was irrelevant—what mattered was that he always denied he wanted to. He belonged to Lois, and only her. If it pleased her to bring in someone else, he would obey. If she wanted him in this skirt, or a different one, if she wanted him on his knees or spread out to be fucked, he would be there, he would do it, because he loved how she could control him. How easily she overpowered him with just a word, just a breath, just a brush of her hand. No one else could do that. No one.

One of her hands snaked around to his cock and started stroking quickly. Clark was already on edge just feeling her so close and all around him, inside him, taking over his body with hardly any effort, and it only took a few strokes, a few thrusts, before he came, staining the skirt and ruining the sheets. It didn’t matter, it would all wash out.

“There you are,” she said. She gave him a moment to catch his breath before she lazily raised her hand to his mouth. He licked it off dutifully, catching her fingers to suck on them. She smiled as she withdrew her hand, pulled out of his body. Clark fell to the bed but quickly rolled over, knowing he wasn’t done yet. He wasn’t finished until she said he was.

She finally, finally undressed, letting him see her, her freckles and scars and bruises, and he wanted to kiss them all, wanted to run his hands over all of it, wanted to taste her.

That, at least, he would. She climbed back onto the bed, legs on other side of his head, keeping herself just too high to reach. He turned his head and kissed the inside of her thigh, moving his lips up and down the parts of her legs he could reach, smearing his lipstick over her skin. She shuddered and lowered herself down until he could finally, finally lick at her pussy. He did so eagerly, flicking his tongue over her clit for a few seconds before plunging inside and it was pure bliss, eating her out, eyes closed, inhaling her scent, her taste.

“Oh, Clark…” she moaned.

He raised his hands to her hips, holding her in place but not squeezing. She shifted, put herself where she wanted, gripped his hair and ground down on his face and it was pure bliss, the taste of her, the feel of her skin, the sound of her breaths and moans and heartbeat and Clark was so overwhelmed by how much he loved her. He moaned into her, thrusting his tongue in deep, sucking lightly and she was gone, orgasming on him, crying out to high heaven.

She stayed for a moment after she finished before she climbed off him. She got off the bed on shaky legs and stood looking at him for a moment. He was a mess, his face slick with her, his skirt and stockings smeared with his own cum. He was sweating, blushing, panting and looking at her like she was the best thing in the world.

“Oh, such a pretty girl,” she breathed. “I should take a picture…save it for the nights you’re working.”

He blushed more, watching her with hazy blue eyes. She laughed. “I’m teasing,” she said. “I couldn’t risk those photos falling into the wrong hands.” She turned back to the dresser and grabbed a pair of sweatpants and one of his shirts to sleep in before she went and fetched a washcloth.

She cleaned him up, washed the makeup off his face and the evidence of their activities away from his body. She finished undressing him, helped him into a pair of comfortable pants. He was overwhelmed, lost, but he started to come back as she settle them in. It still amazed him how a woman only two-thirds his size could move him so easily, could make him feel so safe.

But then they were curled together, his head on her breasts, her hand running through his hair. He looked up at her through his lashes. “Thank you,” he said.

She smiled and kissed his forehead. “You did so well,” she said. “Always so good for me.” They were quiet for a moment before she asked, “What distracted you earlier?”

It took a moment for Clark to remember. “Oh,” he said. “I…I was thinkin’ we should borrow a redlight generator from Bruce sometime…jist…I wanna know what’d it’d be like if I could really feel it all, y’know?”

She hummed thoughtfully. “Might be worth looking into,” she said. “If that’s what you really want.” She laughed a little. “Better not tell him we’re using it for sex, though.”

“He’d never let me hear the end’a it,” Clark agreed.

“We can discuss it more tomorrow,” she said. “Right now, my pretty girl needs her beauty rest.”

Clark smiled and leaned up to kiss her. “G’night, darlin’.”

“Good night, pretty girl.”


End file.
